


A Perfect Problem

by Satipheen



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 06:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18277538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satipheen/pseuds/Satipheen
Summary: After a decidedly disastrous introduction, Peter is horrified to discover that one certain girl has somehow wound up in Narnia as well. She’s utterly useless, drives Peter mad most the times, but just maybe will she be able to save Peter from himself? Or will another encroaching darkness altogether get to them first? Peter/OC. Set during PC





	1. Chapter 1

My disclaimer for this story; I most certainly and evidently do not claim to have ownership over C.S Lewis’s work. Any characters you recognise are not mine…unfortunately.

So please…read and hopefully enjoy!

 

Peter staggered backwards, his back colliding with the harsh brick wall as pain bloomed across his jaw.

Peter wiped the dribble of blood away with his sleeve as he glared darkly at the leering face of the boy towering before him.

The jeering crowd shouted incentives and insults from the side-lines, their faces having long blurred into one indistinguishable wall.

“Had enough yet?” the boy spat.

Peter’s lips twisted in an ugly smirk as he lunged forward.

“Peter Pevensie! James Berrington!”

Both boys immediately broke apart, glowering at one another menacingly for another stubborn moment.

Mr Wilson approached, pushing past the fast dissipating crowd until he stood before them, arms folded angrily across his broad chest in his usual smart tweed jacket.

“Fighting – on school property again,” Mr Wilson boomed, his expression absolutely livid.

“He started it,” James mumbled under his breath.

Peter whipped around to face him, his eyes crackling like blue lightening. “You liar!” Peter accused suddenly.

James immediately rounded on Peter and for a moment it seemed as if the fight would recommence until…

“ENOUGH!” Mr Wilson’s voice was like thunder reverberating in the two boys’ ears.

“Headmaster Andrews office now!” Mr Wilson ordered, stepping to the side as his arm snapped out from his side into a rigid line perpendicular to his body, finger outstretched towards the school building a few yards away as he glared at the two boys in cold silent fury.

Silently and with many dark looks, both boys trudged up the stone steps to the school building, Mr Wilson marching behind them.

There were hushed whispers and sniggers as the two boys passed by in cold silence, uniforms dirtied and crumpled until a stern look from Mr Wilson had the culprits scuttling.

Peter clenched his jaw tighter as he thrust his chin in the air as he walked, his back straight and rigid.

He had no need to feel ashamed or belittled; he was High King Peter the Magnificent.

He had led armies to legendary battles; he was a King!

Why should he have to suffer the insults and jibes of those clearly beneath him?

However, one face gave him pause as he met the familiar, dark eyes already giving him a disapproving look.

Peter stifled a sigh as he passed by Edmund and caught his younger brother’s almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Usually Edmund supported him when he got himself embroiled in these pointless fights, even jumped in to help him on occasion despite Peter never requiring his help.

But Edmund usually only acted out of brotherly concern in seeing his brother facing off opponents twice his stature alone, rather than he actually supported Peter’s reasons.

Mr Wilson marched them both into the old office.

Headmaster Andrews was a wisp of a man made to look only tinier by the huge mahogany desk he sat behind and the grand leather armchair he was swamped in.

But his eyes were shrewd, and his face wore a perpetually sour expression.

“Pardon me Sir for excusing you from your work but I caught these two fighting on school property, _again,”_ Mr Wilson finished meaningfully, directing a particularly malevolent look towards the two boys.

Peter stood proud, shoulders squared as he returned Mr Wilson’s glare with a cool, aloof stare of his own.

James was meanwhile snivelling and attempting to look contrite as the Headmaster eyed them distastefully.

Peter had to resist the urge to lash out again; seriously all these glares and demeaning looks as though _he_ were beneath _them?!_

“Thank-you Mr Wilson,” Headmaster Andrews intoned pointedly in that raspy voice of his.

Mr Wilson clearly did not like being so evidently dismissed. He had hoped to stay and see the boys’ punishment dished out to them.

It had after all been Mr Wilson who had caught them fighting last time; though there had been more boys involved.

He had received quite the black eye when he had tried to separate the boys, but in the fray, he couldn’t be sure which of them had dealt him the punch, and no one had been eager to claim responsibility.

As such the square-jawed teacher had developed a particular dislike for the boys involved, but especially for Peter Pevensie.

Mr Wilson was as teachers went a particularly terrifying specimen. Towering at over six foot and being an ex-military Lieutenant, he was used to boys stammering around him as they stood to attention.

What he wasn’t used to and what he most certainly didn’t like was Peter Pevensie.

Peter never cowered like his classmates in front of Mr Wilson or Lieutenant Wilson as he was officially called.

Peter would merely tilt his chin slightly upwards fixing the imposing man with a cool cobalt stare, inclining one eyebrow.

And what was even worse was Peter wasn’t like some others who would backtalk to him.

Peter was painfully polite, impeccably courteous and yet still Mr Wilson couldn’t help but feel inferior to this…this mere – _boy!_

Reluctantly Mr Wilson with one last directed glare exited the room, shutting the door with an audible thud.

There was a brief moment when the Lieutenant’s voice could be heard booming, as he ordered some groups loitering outside to scatter and then all was silent in the office.

“Well Pevensie? Berrington? – What have you to say for yourselves?” Headmaster Andrews rasped into the silent room; the portraits of past Headmasters staring down solemnly at the proceedings from the walls.

“I apologise Sir for my unacceptable behaviour,” James immediately mumbled, dropping his gaze to the worn floorboards.

Headmaster Andrews nodded his head sagely, before he fixed an expectant gaze on Peter.

“I apologise that James’ behaviour necessitated such behaviour Sir,” Peter spoke coolly.

James’ brows knitted together in barely constrained anger, kept only under control because of the man sat facing them.

Peter could feel James’ gaze burning holes in him, but he kept his gaze trained on Headmaster Andrews.

Headmaster Andrews’ face immediately contorted in fury, his upper lip curling in a sneer.

“Well Mr Pevensie, you may return home and remain home until you learn to behave as befits a young, civilised gentleman and not a brazen, petulant whelp,” Headmaster Andrews’ voice was filled with deadly vehemence despite its hoarseness.

Peter felt anger rise up in him in a red-hot spike, his pride bristled and poked at as his eyes flashed dangerously.

“You as well Mr Berrington. Both of you are henceforth suspended until further notice taking effect immediately!” Headmaster Andrews seemed to collapse back into the leather armchair, breathing heavily; wheezing breaths rattling out of his aged body.

“B-but Sir…?!” James immediately began to protest, his eyes wide with alarm.

“You are both dismissed,” Headmaster Andrews’ announced shortly and callously.

James stared for a moment more in open-mouthed shock.

But Peter didn’t wait; he wouldn’t demean himself to try and beg for Headmaster Andrews to reconsider.

Peter turned on his heel sharply, stalking from the room with blazing eyes.

He had barely made it three strides down the now deserted corridor before he felt himself unceremoniously hauled back by his collar and slammed back into the brick wall.

James Berrington’s face loomed over him for a moment; storm grey eyes and face covered in a multitude of freckles with a mop of flame red hair that fell across his brow.

James smashed a thick arm against Peter’s throat.

However, before Peter even had a chance to react, James’ face was gone from before him and the hold against him vanished.

James staggered slightly before he steadied himself against the opposite wall.

“Edmund Pevensie!” James spat vehemently as he eyed Edmund standing beside Peter.

“I should have known – brothers in arms,” James sneered.

Edmund immediately went to Peter’s side reaching out a supporting hand, concern clear on his face.

Peter shrugged off the brotherly hand, actually directing a fierce glare towards Edmund which was met with much confusion.

“You’ll pay for this,” James threatened darkly as he glared directly at Peter.

Peter rolled his eyes, “Go home James.”

Edmund sighed tiredly; for his brother’s voice wasn’t conciliatory in an attempt to avoid another fight, but rather it was condescending combined with Peter’s look of superiority completed the act.

It seemed High King Peter the Magnificent was making another appearance.

James looked like he was going to attempt another round and Edmund shifted slightly hoping to intervene before things got out of hand.

“For God’s sake, Peter leave it!” Edmund half-pleaded, exasperated and annoyed in equal measures.

However, any altercation was actually averted by the school bell ringing, announcing the end of the school day.

The doorways along the hall immediately sprang open, loud and raucous chatter and laughter rose to the very roof beams, the thunder of footsteps as crowds of young boys spilled out into the hallway.

James was swiftly lost amongst the stream of countless people and Edmund hastily jostled Peter along down the corridor.

The Pevensie brothers as much carried along by the current of bodies all heading in the same direction, spilled out the front doors of the school and into the weak October sun and chilled air.

“Here,” Edmund muttered, shoving Peter’s coat and satchel into his hands.

Peter accepted them, shrugging on the school colours blazer before slinging his book-bag over his shoulder.

They walked in silence for a few moments; Edmund glancing out of the side of his eye at Peter while Peter brooded silently.

“So, what was the damage?” Edmund finally asked after they had managed to disentangle themselves from the throng of boys all spilling out the school gates.

The corners of Peter’s lips lifted in a smug grin. “I thought you would have seen the black eye James was wearing,” Peter replied.

Edmund rolled his eyes. “I meant with the old goat Andrews?” Edmund clarified.

Peter’s expression immediately darkened, the muscles bunching in his jaw visible as he offered no answer.

Edmund sighed thinking how he might possibly have to beat the answer out of his stubborn elder brother; though knowing Peter he would certainly put up a fight to retain it.

“They’re all imbeciles,” Peter suddenly spat vehemently, so much so that Edmund frowned deeply, troubled at his brother’s words.

He had known that Peter was becoming more and more frustrated as the days passed. They had been mere children when the war had begun but now as they got older and more of their friends enlisted for the on-going war, many of them lying about their ages, Edmund could see the restlessness grow in his brother.

Longing for a time when he would go off to battle to defend all that he loved, for the thrill of the fight, the recognition that he had been so used to receiving, the praise and the glory.

Steadily the fights had become more frequent. Edmund didn’t know if it was Peter trying to look for something in them, or whether he was still clinging to what he had once been, unable to relinquish it and behave like the boy that he was supposed to be.

Peter began to speak of Narnia more then, but the wistful tone and fond smile that he had begun with, had slowly been replaced with clenched fists and bitter impatience.

Edmund and Peter turned down onto the familiar street leading to the train station and Edmund out of the corner of his eye caught Peter rubbing at his jaw with a slight wince.

“Is it bad?” Edmund said trying to crane in a look.

“Alright Mother Hen,” Peter waved a dismissive hand airily, “It’s nothing.”

Edmund furrowed his brow but said nothing, he didn’t need to. He could already see the blossoming red and purple on the curve of Peter’s jaw along with the slight swelling.

Peter would no doubt refuse any treatment offered, forever insisting that he had endured worse.

For one who proved that he had a sharp mind and extensive intelligence as evidenced by the Golden Years of his rule as High King Peter, where he had overseen many diplomatic trade agreements, unions with other lands, victorious battle strategies, just rulings…Peter could display some very severe bouts of pig-headed stubbornness and arrogant pride that led him to behave like a conceited fool and make idiotic decisions.

The only problem Edmund considered, was that such behaviour was becoming a more and more common occurrence with Peter.

“So, what did Andrews say? – What is your punishment?” Edmund pressed.

Peter scowled at him over his shoulder as they entered the train station.

Any conversation swiftly became impossible in the following minutes as the brothers fought their way through the crowds to buy their tickets and then go to their usual spot to meet the girls.

As soon as they reached the familiar bench Peter slung his bag off his shoulder, dropping it carelessly onto the platform beside the bench.

“Come on Peter – you’re going to have to tell me sometime!”

“Oh really? I don’t see how it is any of your business!”

“My busi…?! Of course, it’s my business – you’re my brother!”

Peter rolled his eyes skyward for a moment as he exhaled noisily through his nose.

“I got suspended Ed alright!”

“You got what! – Mum is going to kill you!”

Peter groaned as Susan stood before him, looking down at him in annoyance, her brows drawn down in fierce disapproval.

“What’s happened?” Lucy appeared at Susan’s side, her gaze flitting between her brothers expectantly.

Edmund glanced to Peter briefly before answering her.

“Peter got suspended for fighting with James Berrington again on school grounds.”

“What on earth were you thinking Peter?!” Susan exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

Peter stood abruptly, brushing past Susan to walk a few spaces and gain some distance between himself and his siblings.

Peter looked forward unseeing as a bitter taste rose in his mouth.

How could his siblings walk about these streets seamlessly melting once more into life in England?

They were royalty; kings and queens of legends that saved a whole kingdom from the tyranny of the White Witch!

War was raging all around him and he was stuck trading punches with idiots like James Berrington.

Every insult or passing joke was like a personal jibe at his uselessness in this world. Little did Peter realise or want to acknowledge that he attracted such unwelcome attention because of his own insistence to behave so superiorly to those around him.

“Peter!”

Snapping his head around at the call of his name, Peter had his bag shoved once more roughly into his hand from Edmund.

Edmund nodded towards the train that stood waiting, passengers huddling though the narrow doorways in shuffling crowds.

Sighing Peter grabbed that blasted satchel and joined the monotonous moving to board the train.

Once aboard the crowds meant they were only able to secure two seats; which both brothers gave up to their sisters.

Lucy looked up concernedly at her eldest brother, worry in her gaze as she eyed the bruise beginning to colour the angle of his jaw.

Peter caught her anxious look and smiled kindly at her, flicking her nose playfully. Lucy grinned back at him.

“Don’t worry Lu, I’ve had much worse,” Peter reassured.

Edmund rolled his eyes. _Predictable,_ he thought.

Susan was not so silent in her disapproval. “That is beside the point Peter! What are you going to tell mum when you get back – after you promised her no more fighting?!”

Peter rolled his eyes as he ground his teeth together in poorly concealed frustration.

“You make it sound as though I _planned_ to get into a fight today Susan!” Peter retorted.

“You make it sound as though fighting were your only option!”

“Oh, I forget,” Peter bit sarcastically, “You would have _me_ swallow every insult.”

Susan turned her head away immediately as she gave a bitter laugh before she spoke, “Everyone that so much as looks at you insults you Peter!”

“Well Susan…”

“Stop it!” Lucy cried suddenly.

The two fighting elder siblings fell silent, both looking suitably chastised at least.

“Lucy’s right, this isn’t helping anything,” Edmund stepped in quietly, his reproving gaze lingering longest on Peter.

“You will have to tell mum though Peter,” Edmund reiterated.

Peter sighed deeply as he closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The four Pevensie children spilled into the hallway of their home, rubbing together chilled hands as coats were shrugged off and hung up.

“Oh, good, children you’re home, I…Peter! What happened to your face?” Helen Pevensie immediately went to her eldest son, her face full of concern, eyes crinkled with worry as she raised a hand gingerly to hover over the swollen bruise on Peter’s jaw.

Susan arched an expectant brow at Peter, nodding meaningfully towards their mother.

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip nervously as Edmund watched the proceedings warily.

Peter looked over his mother’s shoulder at his evidently waiting and expectant siblings.

Peter clenched his jaw tightly ignoring the twinge of tender pain at the action as he narrowed his eyes at them.

He hated being cornered into anything; he was a King and as such would make his decisions on when to take action when he saw fit.

But Peter read the look of Susan’s face; if he didn’t tell their mother now, she would.

Peter glared darkly at her before returning his gaze back to their mother.

“Mum, I have got something to tell you,” Peter began slowly and reluctantly. 

Susan scoffed irascibly as she rolled her eyes.

Their mother glanced over her shoulder, taking in the tense poses of her three younger children before looking warily to Peter once more, a dreaded suspicion in her eyes.

“Come on Susan, Lu,” Edmund called pointedly, holding the door to the living room open and gesturing for his sisters to go on in.

Susan hesitated for a moment before relenting, clearly washing her hands of the situation; it was Peter’s problem now.

Lucy followed her after flashing Peter a troubled smile.

Edmund nodded once in acknowledgement to Peter’s grateful look before he too turned and went into the living room, shutting the door after him.

Helen Pevensie looked up to her son, waiting reluctantly for what she now knew was coming.

“Mum…I got into a fight today at school,” Peter confessed quietly, his gaze trained on the small stretch of ground between them.

Helen sighed heavily, and no sound made Peter feel guiltier.

“Peter…” she began tiredly. “I’ve told you time and time again to just ignore them.”

Peter shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly for a silent moment before he took a deep breath, glancing up to make sure she was ready for the rest.

“Mr Wilson caught me fighting…”

“Lieutenant Wilson you mean?” his mother interrupted.

“Yes,” Peter confirmed less than enthusiastically.

“Oh Peter!” Helen exclaimed, “Lieutenant Wilson is such a good man!”

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, it was straight to Headmaster Andrews office…” Peter looked up, pausing for a considerable moment.

Helen Pevensie nodded, encouraging him to finish his tale.

“Go on Peter,” she urged.

Peter sighed. “He suspended me indefinitely.”

Helen Pevensie’s eyes closed as she let out a long wavering breath. “Oh Peter, what have you done?” she breathed quietly.

She sighed. “Who was it this time?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “James Berrington,” he grumbled under his breath.

His mother’s frown deepened considerably when she heard the name. “Again?” she questioned sternly; though it was more a statement than a question.

It was Peter’s turn to sigh. “Mum you don’t understand – he provoked me!”

“No, you’re right – I don’t understand Peter. I don’t understand why my intelligent, young son seems to do nothing but fight these days!” His mother’s voice wavered and when Peter looked up he could see the unshed tears swimming in his mother’s eyes.

“Mum…” Peter began softly.

“No Peter! Now you will go over to the Berrington’s house and you will apologise to James and put this silly feud to bed once and for all!”

“What? Mum – you…you can’t be serious!?”

“Peter Pevensie I am deadly serious. Now…” Helen Pevensie’s hand shot out as she seized the collar of his once crisp white shirt, now dirtied and spotted with blood; James’ after Peter had most likely knocked out one of his teeth.

“Change your clothes and then you are to go straight over to the Berrington’s house and apologise to James.”

Peter stared at his mother agape. Go – to the _Berrington’s_ house; _apologise to James!_

“But mum,” Peter gave an incredulous laugh that held no humour, “I did nothing wrong!”

“I don’t care Peter. I want this fighting to stop once and for all. You _will_ go over to the Berrington’s – and you _will_ apologise to James. Am I understood young man?” His mother’s tone was one of the sternest she had ever used with him, a fierce light in her eyes.

Peter ground his teeth together, his shoulders and back completely rigid. “Yes,” Peter ground the word out with a lot of difficulty.

Helen Pevensie sighed as she nodded. “Good.”

Her expression melted into one of motherly concern and gentle reproach swiftly. “I only want what’s best for you Peter,” she told him quietly.

Peter nodded stiffly as his mother gave him a small, sympathetic smile; resigned to the fact that he would not be best pleased with what she was forcing him to do.

…

Peter tore through his room like a hurricane and with the noise of one too as he angrily stomped across the floorboards, tearing open the doors of his wardrobe to rip out a new shirt at random.

Just as he was finishing buttoning up the buttons of his shirt there was a hesitant rap at his bedroom door, followed by someone sticking their head in the now slightly ajar door.

Edmund eyed Peter curiously before Peter snapped at him.

“I have to go apologise – to _him!”_

“Who?”

Peter glowered at Edmund for a moment. “James Berrington! – Keep up Ed!” Peter berated.

Edmund shook his head, a wary look in his eyes. “Do you think that’s such a good idea Peter?”

“It’s not my idea!” Peter balked. “Do you really think I would apologise to James Berrington of all people?! No…it’s mum. She says it will stop the fighting once and for all.”

“So, you’ve told her then? – About being suspended I mean?”

“Oh well done Ed, you certainly worked out that mystery,” Peter mocked as he brushed by Edmund and out of his room agitatedly, the door slamming in his exit.

Edmund ignored the bitter jibe, following Peter as the elder brother stormed down the stairs.

Susan was in the hall, giggling softly as she spoke in hushed tones, fingers toying with the coil of the telephone wire. She hurriedly ended the conversation, slamming the phone back into its cradle just as Peter and Edmund reached the bottom of the stairs.

Peter rolled his eyes; no doubt another of Susan’s _friends._

“Where are you going?” Susan demanded suddenly as Peter took his coat of the peg in the hall and donned it swiftly.

“I’m going to apologise to James Berrington, the boy I was fighting with today and got suspended for,” Peter answered truthfully, as he hastily did the buttons up on his coat with an unnecessary violence.

Susan’s full bottom lip protruded in a perturbed pout with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Peter,” Susan remarked seriously.

“Is this not what you wanted?” Peter accused her sharply.

Susan scoffed, turning quickly on her heel.

“Grow up Peter!” she called over her shoulder before she disappeared into the living room again.

Peter had the resist the urge to laugh outright at that; how many times had Susan been warning him to _grow-down_ and to act the age he was now in England and now…now she wanted him to _grow-up?!_

Edmund sighed tiredly from his side, looking to Peter exasperated.

“Where’s Lu?” Peter asked suddenly.

“Helping mum with dinner,” Edmund answered immediately, already starting to shrug on his coat.

Peter gave him a strange look, “What are you doing?”

“Going with you,” Edmund answered casually.

Peter gave a short laugh, “No you’re not Ed.”

“Come on Peter! What if some of James’ goons are there?”

“Well then I will take care of them myself,” Peter answered confidently.

Edmund gave Peter a long look but the elder merely arched a brow at him fixing him with that cool cobalt stare that had become so common recently; that Peter used to shut out everyone without even knowing it, refusing to ask for help no matter what.

Edmund sighed in defeat as Peter turned sharply and walked out the door. Edmund didn’t follow.

…

Peter made his way briskly along the streets; a frosty chill to the air. The shorter winter days meant less hours of light and as such the sky was already darkening.

Peter sighed irritably. Apologising would do nothing but…his mother had asked him to and he said he would. And besides, his mother hadn’t specified what he had to apologise _for._

Peter found the house easily. He only knew the address because he had seen it scrawled on a letter that had fallen on _his_ desk. Then James had the audacity to accuse Peter of snooping around in his belongings. That slight of course had not gone unpunished and it was the cause of one of many fights the boys had engaged in.

The house itself was cramped in a line of terraced houses with small square gardens.

Inhaling deeply in resignation once more, Peter strode up to the door and knocked it firmly and sharply.

Inside a cacophony of sound burst alive that was audible even through the door. There was a scrabbling that was followed by a barking. _Great;_ _they have a dog,_ Peter bemoaned.

A baby’s wail shattered the air from somewhere in the house and then there was a hurried thumping as someone descended the stairs Peter assumed.

The door was torn open, but it wasn’t James as Peter was hoping, to get this over with as quickly as possible.

With one cursory look Peter acknowledged that she had to be at least James’ sister; same flame red hair, face of freckles and slate grey eyes.

“Is James Berrington there?” Peter asked politely.

“No – he’s out,” she answered shortly.

“Do you have any idea when you expect him back?” Peter asked, warily eyeing the slavering dog that she was currently fighting to keep in the house, blocking its path with her legs alone.

“Wilson back – go! Shoo!” the girl hissed as she gave the dog a nudge back into the house with her leg.

Peter arched an amused brow. The dog was called _Wilson;_ Peter wondered if it was coincidence.

The girl looked up again. “Sorry, he’s just curious,” she apologised with an easy smile, gesturing to the dog that despite her best attempts had its head wedged between her leg and the door, looking up at Peter with huge brown eyes and its red tongue lolling out to the side.

“Erm…no, I’ve no idea when Jimmy’ll be back – I’ll tell him you called if you want?” she suggested helpfully with another bright smile.

Peter sighed. This was just _perfect,_ he thought sourly.

“If you could tell him Peter Pevensie called,” Peter said, not really paying attention to the girl and more concerned with the dog that seemed determined to knock the slight girl to the ground in its eagerness to get out.

“ _Peter Pevensie?_ ”

Peter’s gaze snapped up as he was taken aback by the cold vehemence in the girl’s tone and the way her slate grey eyes narrowed, two red spots appearing on her cheeks.

Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Yes. I’m Peter Pevensie,” he confirmed. “Can you tell James that I called, I would…”

Peter never got to finish his words for at that moment something happened that Peter had most certainly not anticipated.

The harsh ground rose up to meet him swiftly, as pain ruptured once more across the overly tender spot on his jaw as a result of the punch the girl in front of him had just landed him.

What made it worse was that as he groaned in agony on the cold ground, the next thing he felt was a wet slobbery muzzle nudging against his face.

Peter pushed the drooling dog away from him as he scrambled to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.

Peter looked to her, his blue eyes blazing with anger and shock, his cheeks emblazoned red in embarrassment.

“You alright there, Ella? This young lad here ain’t causing you no bother, is he?” 

Peter whipped around indignantly to see an elder man with a weather- beaten face and overalls paused at the bottom of the garden, his bright eyes flitting from concern for the girl to disdain as he looked at Peter.

“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry Mr Bates – I can handle myself,” the girl replied casually with a bright smile and a wave.

The man chuckled good-naturedly and easily returned the smile, before with one last wary glance directed at a fuming Peter he continued on his way down the street.

Peter returned his fierce glare back towards the girl who stood nonchalantly with a victorious smirk on her face.

_If she was a boy…_ Peter let that thought trail off. She wasn’t and so he could not in good conscience wipe that smirk from her face by returning her favour to him.

Peter rubbed a hand across the doubly tender spot now on his jaw. “Why did you do that for?” Peter demanded through gritted teeth, a few locks of fair hair falling across his eyes.

An eyebrow shot up as the girl answered immediately. “That was for my twin! Do you know how many times I’ve had to fix Jimmy up after you and he have had a scrap?!” she demanded, folding her arms angrily across her chest.

Peter almost scoffed. He should have known – James Berrington’s twin sister.

“Well I’m sure my sisters wouldn’t dream of doing the same if your brother was to call at our door,” Peter hissed at her, struggling to keep his composure, because really it was frustrating when she was looking so damn smug and knowing there was little he could do about it.

“I’m not your sister though,” she answered bluntly with a careless shrug.

Peter inhaled deeply as he straightened his spine, preparing to turn sharply on his heel.

High King Peter never ran away from a fight, but he acknowledged that this was one he wasn’t going to win, and he would have liked to leave with as much of his dignity intact as possible, having just been floored by a girl a good head smaller than him.

Now that he came to notice it…not only that, but a wisp of a girl really. She was all gangly limbs, her clothes hanging off her as though they were a size too big.

Peter groaned inwardly. How on earth had had been floored by one punch from – _her?!_

It was the shock and surprise of it, Peter hurriedly reasoned to soothe his wounded pride.

Peter offered her no other words and turned to leave, still being able to see that cloying smirk on her lips.

But then Peter paused as he found his way…barred.

Wilson, the great big oaf of a dog, was lying across the path.

Peter was in no way going to attempt to step over it, only for the dog to no doubt scramble to his feet and knock him to the ground. He had already been floored by a girl today, he wasn’t about to add dog to the list.

Reluctantly and practically seething Peter turned his head stiffly. “Call off your dog,” he ordered.

“Ha!” she laughed in exclamation and Peter was able to just catch a flash of red hair before she disappeared back into the house, shutting the door firmly after her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The only possibly good thing about his disastrous encounter with James Berrington’s twin sister was the fact that when she had punched him, she had landed her punch in exactly the same spot her brother had hit earlier that day.

Both of them had left hooks, Peter realised bitterly.

As a result though, it did mean that Peter didn’t have to explain another bruise to his family; which he was thankful for.

He hadn’t exactly lied to his mother; when she had asked him did he go to the Berrington’s house, Peter had answered yes which technically wasn’t a lie. He had gone to the house after all.

A relieved smile had broken across his mother’s face as she looked at her son proudly.

Peter was palming a sheave of papers sitting at his desk when Edmund entered the room silently.

“So…did you really do it? _Apologise_ to James Berrington?” Edmund asked cautiously, though curiosity burned in his eyes and a smile tugged at his lips.

Peter rolled his eyes before looking to Edmund with a boyish grin, “Of course not.”

Edmund shook his head, “I suspected as much. What happened then?”

Peter grimaced slightly at the question; silently adamant that he would _not_ be admitting to Edmund that he had been floored by James’ Berrington’s twin sister.

“I called to the house and he wasn’t there,” Peter remarked with a casual shrug.

Edmund looked at him sceptically, able to sense when Peter was omitting something and from the slightly agitated tenseness in Peter’s rigid shoulders, Edmund sensed there was more to it than that.

Peter could feel Edmund’s suspicious gaze on him and it irked him; unwilling to admit the truth and yet uncomfortable under Edmund’s knowing gaze.

“His sister answered the door,” Peter added, forcing his tone to remain as casual as possible.

“His sister?” Edmund repeated questioning.

Peter ignored the spike of irritation. Did Edmund really have to press on and on until he would have to admit his wounded pride?

“What is her name?” Edmund inquired, as he dropped himself onto the bed.

Edmund had merely been curious; however, Peter felt another rise of frustration. Why was Edmund _still_ focused on _her?!_

Peter just wanted to forget about that _incidence._

“What does it matter?!” Peter snapped.

Edmund looked over at Peter, his expression exasperated and annoyed in equal measures before he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

“Fine Peter,” Edmund said quietly, though his tone was more tired than angry.

As soon as the door had shut after Edmund had left, Peter sighed heavily.

In truth Peter regretted his sharp tone but he could not bring himself to seek out Edmund and admit it.

Wearily Peter got to his feet and went to the window watching as the first few raindrops struck the pane.

Recently his life had been becoming more troublesome with his growing impatience to return to the one place where he actually perceived he meant something.

He hated feeling useless; only being able to sit and listen to reports on the radio from the front.

He longed to be out there – fighting. He had skill – he was High King Peter! How many _boys_ on the front line could say they were a king, had led great armies, won battles against great odds?

Frustration was putting it lightly, Peter mused bitterly. And so, with a troubled frown Peter decided to give up for the night and turned in.

…

“Peter?”

Peter moaned groggily, turning away from the insistent call and trying to shrug off the hand shaking his shoulder.

“Peter!”

Peter opened his eyes blearily to be met with Lucy’s face hovering above him.

When his sister saw his eyes open she sighed with relief and flashed him a brief smile. “Mum says hurry and get ready or you’ll be late,” Lucy called as she leapt to her feet and disappeared out of the room before Peter could even think to reply.

Peter groaned as he turned again, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before he whipped the covers back and pushed himself up to lean on his elbows.

Blinking owlishly Peter moved about his room sluggishly and began the mundane routine of readying himself for the day.

It was only as Peter was reaching for his uniform that it suddenly occurred to him and his hand stilled mid-air…Headmaster Andrews had suspended him.

For a moment Peter stood still, unsure.

A sharp rap on his room door disrupted his thoughts and a moment later his mother popped her head through the slightly ajar door.

She smiled at him and nodded before stepping into the room.

“I’m suspended,” Peter told her blankly, as he turned and instead of the familiar uniform he reached for his normal clothes.

“I want you to go to school today, Peter.”

Peter snapped his head around, his expression clearly showing his bafflement.

His mother stood with her hands folded, her expression calm.

“No…mum, I don’t think you understand. I _can’t_ go to school – I’m suspended,” Peter repeated, raising a quizzical brow.

His mother inhaled a deep breath before she continued, “I know. I want you to go and apologise to Headmaster Andrews and Lieutenant Wilson. Hopefully they will realise that you are sorry and are lenient and allow you to come back to school. It would do no harm also to mention that you took the first steps in going to the Berrington’s house and apologising to James.”

Mrs Pevensie stood – waiting. And sure enough, it came within seconds of her instructions.

“Mum!” Peter exclaimed, gaping at her incredulously.

To go and apologise to James Berrington was one thing – to go and apologise to Headmaster Andrews _and_ Lieutenant Wilson – to essentially _beg_ them could he return to school!

Peter reined in his anger – barely, his eyes steely as the muscles in his jaw visibly twitched with the effort.

He _could not _lower himself to do that.

Mrs Pevensie’s face was saddened as she saw the evident anger in her eldest son’s face.

She knew that she was being strict with him and she hated to be so. She respected that Peter had great pride and usually it was an honourable trait but the restlessness she had seen growing in her son was worrying her. She realised that Peter was approaching the age where she could not mother him anymore and demand he apologise to his teachers as though he were a little boy. But leaving Peter to his own devices had proved unsuccessful. She did not know what it was that troubled Peter. It worried her to see that inconsequential spats between her children were becoming more common.

“Peter, you _will_ do this,” Mrs Pevensie forced her voice to be as authoritative and stern as she could make it.

Peter dropped his head, hiding his blazing cobalt gaze as he stiffly nodded. He could not refuse his mother, though he hated her decision.

…

“I thought you were suspended,” Susan remarked as they approached the familiar train station.

Peter rolled his eyes, his hands dug in his pockets like weights as he trudged ahead of them.

When he didn’t answer her Susan made to press him again for answers, when Edmund nudged her silently and Susan relented.

She pursed her lips, looking at the back of Peter’s head for a moment. “Fine,” she said shortly before she turned sharply away from them and started off in the opposite direction.

“Susan?!” Lucy called after her elder sister.

Susan paused at the edge of the path as the cars on the road bustled by on another busy morning.

“I’m just going over to the newspaper stand, Lu. We’re early anyway – and I’d prefer other company,” Susan directed a look towards Peter.

Peter didn’t rise to the bait though and instead walked on ahead and Susan darted across the road.

Lucy sighed, a little frustration seeping into the expletive as she became irked at her siblings, more specifically her elder siblings’ constant bickering.

It seemed all they did was fight amongst themselves these days; Peter with his pride, Susan drifting away from them, even Edmund’s patience had its limits.

“C’mon Lu, they’ll come around.”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder to see Edmund waiting for her, and with another heavy sigh they set off towards the train station again.

…

Peter weaved amongst the crowds in the train station; most in similar uniforms to his, a few home soldiers dotted amongst them – bitter reminders that here Peter was only one schoolboy in a whole crowd of many and not the king or soldier he had once been in Narnia.

Pushing the thought aside, Peter swiftly descended the flight of steps before him when suddenly he paused as a familiar voice sounded somewhere nearby.

And true enough, when Peter looked up he saw James Berrington across the way with a few of his friends, leaning against the wall. He wasn’t in his uniform, dressed in a frayed blue shirt and brown trousers with a cap pulled low over his eyes, his red hair sticking out from under it.

It was only a split second, but a second too long all the same.

James Berrington’s grey eyes sharpened, his gaze zeroing in on Peter.

“Well, well, well…what have we here?” James pushed himself off the wall as he slowly approached Peter, a glint in his eyes.

Peter turned to face him, not letting any emotion flicker across his face.

“Why are you in school uniform?” James demanded as he scowled darkly at Peter.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Peter told him, before turning sharply on his heel.

“No?! - You’ll answer to my fists though!”

Only countless years of experience allowed Peter to react quickly enough and dodge James’ swinging fist.

Propelled forward with the momentum James went crashing into the opposite wall.

James’ group of friends looked on in hushed silence as James clumsily regained his footing, his face flushing a shade of red that rivalled that of his flame red hair.

Peter looked down on him; his look of calm composure only adding to James’ humiliation.

And that was all it took as James lunged for Peter.

James bodily slammed Peter into the wall. However, as he swung his fist back to aim for Peter’s face, Peter was swifter, and he dealt James a sharp undercut punch to the jaw that had James staggering backwards.

His friends were there to catch his fall and helped him back on his feet. James sneered at Peter, blood and spittle coating his teeth, “Get him.”

Three boys immediately made to grab for him; Peter managed to dodge one as he landed a punch at the other. However, the third succeeded in flooring him with a harsh knee to the gut.

Peter crumpled to the ground, gritting his teeth.

A fist suddenly slammed into the side of his face as James stood above and Peter hissed as his head collided painfully with the cold ground beneath him.

“Get up and fight Pevensie,” one of them jeered.

A bleary look and Peter could see the four boys looming above him; James with a malevolent smirk on his face, nudging Peter with his foot. “Come on Petey, what’s the matter?” James sneered.

The crowd that had gathered swiftly at the prospect of a fight, shouted and cheered.

Peter didn’t need the encouragement though, he took one look at James’ smug expression and he was on his feet in seconds, his fist slamming into James’ face.

They were all on him again within moments and he gritted his teeth against the punches being rained down on him, the sly kicks to his shins. Peter was fighting fiercely, fists lashing out; some meeting their targets, others meeting nothing but air.

At one point he was shoved forward but before he could hit the steps at an alarming speed, one of the boys had hauled him back by the collar.

For a split second, Peter looked up and any fleeting feelings about the thrill of the fight or the grim satisfaction of feeling his fists connect with flesh, vanished.

Lucy looked down at him, concern etched clearly upon her face while Susan already sent him a reproving look.

And then suddenly the hold around him was gone. Peter whipped around, deftly avoiding the fist that was being sent his way even as he threw his own.

He looked to see Edmund tackling one of James’ friends, and pushed the spike of irritation he felt at the sight into the next punch he aimed.

The last thing Peter needed was Edmund getting in his way. He was more than capable of defending himself against some fools; he was a King!

The fight however was effectively ended when a few soldiers nearby and a conductor physically broke them up.

“Act your age,” one of the soldiers said, as he forcibly shoved Peter on.

The remark riled Peter like nothing else; _act his age?!_

However, before Peter could make a sharp retort Edmund jostled Peter along, up towards their waiting sisters and along the platform to their usual bench as the gathered crowds dissipated.

Peter forcibly dropped his bag on the bench as he tugged at his now ripped blazer uncomfortably.

“What was it this time?” Susan asked sharply.

Peter gritted his teeth, unwilling to argue with Susan…yet again.

“He knocked me,” Peter lied.

“And you hit him?” Lucy exclaimed.

“No,” Peter answered as he turned, “I asked him to apologise and when he refused I hit him.”

Peter resolved that he was not going to mention that it was _James Berrington_ – again that he was fighting with!

“Is it just so hard to walk away?” Susan said tiredly.

Peter bristled. “I shouldn’t have to!” he answered sharply, his blue eyes flashing. “It’s be a year already. How much longer does he expect us to wait?” a familiar bitter impatience seeping into his tone.

“Peter Pevensie?”

At the sound of his full name from a less familiar voice Peter immediately snapped around and only narrowly missed gaping openly.

It was _her._

James Berrington’s twin sister stood a metre away, dressed in a uniform identical to that of his sisters. She had her arms folded and a troubled look on her face.

“Can I talk to you privately for a moment?” she asked.

Peter looked at her completely baffled and more than a little wary. He was _not_ going to approach her if her purpose was to punch him again for her brother, especially not here in the middle of the train station.

She and his siblings looked to him expectantly.

“It’ll only be for a moment,” she added encouragingly with a cautious smile, dropping the defensive stance of her crossed arms.

“Well go on then,” Susan prompted Peter as he stood unmoving, still wary of the motives of the flame-haired girl.

Sighing and flexing his fingers, his knuckles stinging from the fight mere minutes ago, Peter approached her.

She flashed a bright, grateful smile at Susan just as Peter reached her.

“What is it?” Peter asked immediately.

“Erm…” the girl frowned as she eyed the purpled bruise on the curve of Peter’s jaw, and she winced slightly.

“I saw the fight there now,” she said, her eyes flickering back up to his.

Peter tried to discreetly edge away, convinced that she was going to seek some sort of retribution for her brother.

Peter said nothing instead looking to her expectantly, waiting for the punch he was convinced was coming and carefully thinking of how he could avoid it.

“It wasn’t fair,” she said firmly, tilting her chin upwards.

Peter frowned slightly in confusion, “Fair?”

“Jimmy – James I saw him. He started it.” She dropped her gaze, momentarily shaking her head. “And worse than that he didn’t even fight fair – all those idiots jumping in,” she trailed off, looking up at Peter again, a determined light in her grey eyes.

Peter was less wary of her now but in place of his suspicion he was growing more confused. What on earth was she trying to say?

“I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze never once breaking.

“Sorry?” Peter repeated.

She nodded. “For hitting you,” she elaborated, her eyes drifting once more to the purpled bruise.

Peter winced a little at the memory but more than anything else he was curious, “Why are you apologising _now?_ ”

“Jimmy told me the fight the other day at school – he said that you started it; that was why I hit you,” she explained. “But now…” she trailed off, holding Peter’s gaze.

“I didn’t start the fight yesterday,” Peter told her truthfully and she nodded with a small quirk of her lips as though she had expected as much.

As fights went Peter Pevensie found himself in most because of his aloof behaviour, imagined slights or because he refused to back down when provoked. It was the third of these that caused the most fights between James Berrington and Peter Pevensie.

James Berrington was known by all as being something of a bully; forever picking fights but never fighting fairly.

“I know that now. I asked Jimmy just there now after the fight – what had happened? I wanted to see what he would say.” She gave him a sour smile. “He said _you_ started it. But I saw what had happened,” she sighed shaking her head again.

Peter felt a slight vindication at the apology, but the feeling was greatly belied by the honest expression on the girl’s face. She had gone out of her way to come and apologise to him – against her own brother. Despite the fact that he still wanted to feel wary of her, he felt a sort of respect for her.

“Why does it matter to you?” Peter asked her genuinely curious.

She blinked before she answered him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Because it wasn’t fair.”

Peter sighed, feeling a smile tug at his lips despite it all. “I suppose not,” Peter mused, “But…AH!”

Peter flinched as the girl before him jumped startled.

“What is it?” she asked immediately.

“Peter!”

He snapped his head around at Lucy’s urgent call to see his three siblings standing with similar expressions on their faces.

“Hold hands,” Susan suddenly instructed, just as Peter felt a wind that shouldn’t exist in the underground train station pick up, whipping at his hair, a train speeding past them.

Peter made to move swiftly over to his siblings when something he didn’t expect happened.

“AH! – What’s happening? What is that?!”

Peter snapped his head around at the cry.

She leapt forward, glancing around her wildly – her eyes wide as her red hair whipped about her face coming loose from its tying.

Peter glanced back to his siblings, who all having heard the girl’s surprised shout quickly exchanged looks of confusion and shock.

Around them tiles began to come loose crashing to the ground, posters encouraging boys and men to enlist were ripped from the walls into the oblivion beyond; a brightening light.

“What is happening?!” she demanded again, fear clear upon her face.

“Peter!” Lucy called almost frantically, holding out her hand.

With barely a conscious thought, Peter took Lucy’s outstretched hand and reaching behind him he grabbed hers.

“What are you doing?” Edmund asked, looking to the red-haired girl, his dark hair whipping about his face as the tunnel started to collapse around them, pulled away by the passing train and the howling wind.

Peter glanced back. She was clutching his hand tightly, terrified and not understanding what was happening but comforted slightly that she seemed to not be alone.

The last blast of the train sounded in their ears before it faded and with it the train disappeared into nothing.

 


End file.
